But You Yourself Are Nothing So Divine
by Merrybeans
Summary: Empress Kalasin of Carthak no longer feels like she used to. What will it take for her to realise that she's still valued, and that life is still worth living?


**A/N:**_The title is taken from the theme song of Casino Royale - "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell. _

**Disclaimer:**_ As you know, it's not mine.  
_**Dedication: **_For Anya. Happy Birthday once again, my dear friend. Enjoy!  
_**Thank you**_ to Lally for the plot bunny help; couldn't have done this without you, love.  
_

**But You Yourself Are Nothing So Divine.  
**

Kalasin sat at a small, round table in the middle of a room in the Imperial Palace of Carthak. She leant heavily on the elbow-high table and she tried not to remember.

It was spring but the drapes were all pulled across the long windows. The room was only dimly lit. The Empress's gown was deep navy, with a collar that reached up to her neck and sleeves that reached to her wrists. Her skirt fell in heavy, smothering folds to the floor.

A gentle breeze somehow evaded the drapes and crept into the room. Her hair was tightly held away from her forehead and neck but the wind found a loose strand. Fluttering her eyes shut, Kalasin reached up and twisted the strand back into place. Something was always out of place.

Next week she would be thirty-five.

Kalasin looked down at her hands. After all these years, they were still pale, barely touched by the souring heat. She was still, quite visibly, foreign.

But her hands were also coarse, where once they had been smooth. The skin was no longer soft to touch; it was scarred and cracked and dry. There was only her in the room but she hid her hands in her skirts. They were too much a reminder.

There came the distant running of footsteps in the passage outside. Kalasin turned her head away. They would not be running to see her.

The footsteps passed, like the wind, invisible and vague.

A bowl of strawberries lay on the table beside her elbow but she had not touched them. She no longer enjoyed strawberries; they stayed red and juicy while she grew old and dry. They were a memory of younger, naïve days; days filled with sun, with high-laughter that kissed the sky; days filled with happy nothingness and promises of eternity.

Now the sun-stroke had passed and the feverish laughter, the passionate daily adventures, the wild love-making-- were all left behind in those younger years, like a bitter taste in the back of the throat. Too often, the sun had singed her.

There were the footfalls again- running up the corridor. She remembered when her children were young and when she had still smiled; they would come running through the palace to find her, to share something with her. Now, their running footsteps were only ghosts. They walked with decorum these days, and barely came to share their adventures with _her_.

For a wild moment, Kalasin thought the door was going to burst open and her girls would be coming to see her, thrilled with some news. Then the footsteps were past, and gone, again, with no stopping and no speaking. Just the footsteps.

She sighed and closed her eyes. She had become a sentimental old woman. Nothing was more important to her than her children; they had become something to live for. They loved her unconditionally, and they did not care that she was not as young and beautiful as others.

Still, her daughters did not need her any more and her son hadn't needed her for quite some time. Before she knew it, they would all be married and gone from her life.

Kalasin still tried to share as much as she could with them, but they were no longer interested in what their old mother had to say. She was hardly as interesting as their young, exciting friends.

She wondered if Lianne had this problem yet, or if her children were still young enough to think their mother awe-inspiring. Lianne, who had married Sir Falrath of King's Reach and strengthened the tie with the important family at the far reaches of Tortall; Lianne, who after all their childhood bickering and competing, had won.

That was the only thing Kalasin regretted never being able to share with her children: her home. After all these seasons, _Tortall_ was still her home. She had never returned. She did not expect to return until she died.

Shortly after her accident, she had said to Kaddar, 'When I die, please do not bury me. Burn me and throw my ashes into a strong northly wind.'

He had not needed an explanation. That had been seven years ago, and she still stuck by it.

At least then she could return home. She would be with her family too. They said that her father, Great King Jonathan, had gone blind. At least if they ever met in this life again he would not be able to see how the wind and the sun had pulled her skin taut over her cheek bones.

With a grimace, Empress Kalasin stood and crossed the room. She pressed a hand to the small of her back as she walked, hoping to work out some of the creases there. Pulling aside the corner of one of the drapes, she watched the hot world go by.

The slaves and servants passed her high window frequently, passing back and forth with various armfuls. Some courtiers strolled by, women twirling delicate parasols, men swinging their fashionable canes. A merchant man hurried past, pestering those following him to hurry too. They hurried as best as they could, but their arms were full of skeins of cloth.

A few children ran by, kicking up the dust and laughing. One boy struggled to make his stubborn goat move after the creature took a liking to a nearby flower. The goat bleated in annoyance but after some pushing and tugging on the boy's part, it suddenly leapt into action again.

Kalasin watched it all and went unseen.

She was about to pull away- for what was there to keep her watching?- when a new figure strolled around the corner. Even from this height, where she could not make out features properly, she knew who it was. If she had not, the bowing of everyone he passed would have given it away.

Her husband. Kaddar.

The Emperor had a lady on his arm and he was bending to listen to what she said. Kalasin squinted to see her better but she was certain she knew who it was: Ozma, his second wife. She was a tall, robust lady and like Kaddar's three other Carthaki wives, she still retained her youthful beauty.

Oh, she was as old as the Empress- they all were, give or take a few years- but there was clearly something in the Carthaki genes to make the women look young for longer. _They_ all still looked fresh, _they_ had rosy cheeks behind their dark skin, and_ they _did not limp.

_They_ had given Kaddar a multitude of sons; a screaming, charging bunch of young warriors. Kalasin had given him only one son, a boy who was more like his Uncle Roald than he'd ever know.

All her other pregnancies had resulted in miscarriages, or daughters.

Kalasin let the drape fall back into place with a bitter dismissal of her hand. She waited for it to settle and then tugged it so that it lay _just so_, before hobbling back to her chair in the darkened room.

She sat there for some time; she was not sure how long. Time passed slowly for her now- too slowly- whereas once she had tried to grasp on to it and stop it from going so _damned fast_. Now she had all the time in the world, and nothing to fill it with.

She barely even wrote home any more. She had nothing to tell them.

Kalasin's heart nearly leapt out of her chest when the door to her room opened and people came in. In fact, she did leap- as best as she could- out of her chair and round on whomever it was, about to demand _why they dare interrupt their Empress in such a way!_

But the words died in her throat. It was her children; her two, beautiful smiling daughters, in gowns she would have been proud of when she was their age.

Kalasin sunk back into her chair, too surprised even to smile and welcome them. They came round to sit on the floor before her; there were no other chairs in the room.

'Girls,' she whispered, looking at them and _not_ looking at them.

Thay- the youngest- smiled sunnily and said, 'Hello Mother. How are you feeling today?'

Kalasin blinked, but found she could not think of a suitable reply. The silence stretched out in the cracked heat of the room. Her girls shared a swift glance and it was Karimah that tried next.

'It is a lovely day outside, Mother, and not too warm. Have you seen?' Standing in a rush as the idea came to her, Karimah moved to the window and pulled back some of the heavy drapes, letting the golden light spill inside.

'Would you like to come outside with us, Mother? We are going to walk in Father's rose garden.'

Mother shook her head and her hand went to her right thigh. 'I could not manage it, my dears.' Her voice was quiet and strained.

'It would be good for you, Mother,' said Karimah, sinking back onto her knees and clasping the arm of Mother's chair. She looked beseechingly into Mother's face. 'You cannot be happy shut in this dark, dreary room alone, day after day. I will not believe it, Mother.'

Mother turned away. 'Go on then, my dears,' she said, in the bird-like voice she used to reserve for them when they were young. 'Run along now, there's good dears. Play with your friends.'

'Mother, _please_,' cried Karimah, grasping Mother's hand. Mother snapped around in her chair to look her daughter straight in the eyes.

'Leave me be,' she hissed, though inside she was trembling.

Thay sighed heavily and picked herself up from the floor. 'Come on, Karimah, we are no help here.' Karimah protested but her younger sister was right.

They left, and Kalasin was only Kalasin again and she cried.

--

It had been a riding accident that lamed her. It had been such a silly thing, really. She had been riding since she could walk, thanks to her mother, and how many times had wary Roald cautioned her about her recklessness? Always she had just flipped her hair and laughed to the sky and told him not to worry so. It seemed brother Roald had been right to be wary.

She had been with Kaddar when it happened; seven years ago she had still felt beautiful and wanted. She had still enjoyed life to the full. Now she was sure her accident had been the catalyst to the demise of her joy.

The Empress rode a great deal in her new home; it was something similar to Tortall. It was a sense of freedom, too. She would remove her veil and let her hair down and laugh as she rode, and afterwards she would always take the time to groom her horse herself.

Afterwards, once she found out she would never ride again, she had had her horse sold, rather than have it ridden by his other wives.

Her horse- a mare Kalasin herself had chosen for its spirited nature, even though Kaddar had tentatively warned her against it (it had been one of their first arguments as a married couple) - had been scared by a snake. The desert animal sprung up out of nowhere, hissing as it lunged.

The horse- that wonderfully spirited beast- had reared in her terror. Kalasin- that wonderfully experienced rider- had been thrown, and her leg- that wonderfully shapely limb- had been crushed.

It was her hip that caused her the most trouble now though. The bones in her leg had healed, though it was at a slight angle (luckily hidden by her full skirts, and she burnt all her short, flimsy nightgowns) but the tendons that had been torn from their anchoring had never properly mended.

It was a long time before she could walk again, and walking any distance other than across a room was longer still in coming. By the time she was able to leave her wing of the palace and return to a more mobile lifestyle, Kaddar had taken another wife. It was his third. Kalasin's healing had regressed considerably.

Her pride and her belief in herself had soon followed.

--

It was her birthday. She was thirty-five. She felt twenty years older than that.

Her daughters had already been and wished her a happy day, and presented her with gifts of flowers and sweet treats and pretty veils and scarves in far brighter colours than she wore nowadays. Her son was away somewhere, doing something, but he did send her a short letter. There was no apology for his absence though.

Kalasin had not seen her husband yet. No doubt he was off gallivanting with one of his three other wives. Oh yes, Kalasin was still his Empress, it was still she that stood on his arm at anything with a semblance of official business, but Kaddar paid more than a fair amount of attention to his other wives.

Kalasin could not blame him really. Apart from their sweeter appearances, they had sweeter temperaments. They did not sit in darkened rooms for hours on end. They would walk the gardens with him and ride with him and dance with him. They would embroider adorable little things on his personal items; Kalasin did not like the attention sewing focused on her hands. She did not like her _hands_. They were dry and pale, and beginning to knobble from the bone-aches that came with too many years. They were a reminder.

But Kaddar did come and see her eventually, some time in the late afternoon. Kalasin was alone in her dimmed world, her lunch still resting untouched by her side.

Kalasin had felt Kaddar's eyes take in it all before he presented her with his smile. It was a smile she remembered well; in the past, she would have done wonders for that smile, anticipating all the while what would come later. Oh, the joys she had known when they had been locked away together.

She had learnt to become numb to that smile.

'Good afternoon, Kalasin. I hope you have had a happy day so far.' He touched her hand lightly with the tips of his fingers, but _he_ had learnt not to kiss her without permission. He did not call her Kally now either; her nickname had died when she changed.

The Empress shrugged, shoulders shrouded in dull grey fabric. She did not know why Kaddar had bothered to come; was he going to present her with more frilly accessories that she would not wear? More chocolates, perhaps, that she would throw to the birds if she was feeling generous?

The Emperor of Carthak crouched down before his first wife, using her chair to steady himself as he balanced on the balls of his feet. He looked steadily into her face, taking in the lean cheeks, the pale dry skin, the dark rings under the eyes, the wrinkles on the forehead, and the grey hairs fiercely pulled back from her temples into a vicious bun.

Personally, he still found her pale skin an entrancing comparison to the dark of his people and he thought if she ate a little better and got more fresh air in those lungs, she'd soon stop looking so drawn. The wrinkles did not bother him for he had plenty of his own already. The hair—well, he secretly chuckled at the salt-and-pepper effect she had now; if she still had her fun-loving spirit, that hair would have matched it well.

'Oh, my love,' he said softly, 'you look bored of me already. Should I leave you?'

Kalasin did not answer.

'No,' he continued, still in that soft, tender voice. 'That would be unkind on both of us.' He rose. 'Come, I have something I wish to share with you, my dear Kalasin.'

Nobody had wanted to share anything with her in a long time. Well, nothing that wasn't a state matter.

'I-I can't-' she stuttered, indicating her helpless leg.

'Oh, that.' Kaddar waved a hand flippantly, as if she was talking of a small bruise. 'You know,' he started again as he swooped down and lifted her out of the chair, 'I think that's worse in your head than it is in reality.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' Kalasin asked, not liking the fact that he was now holding her completely free of her chair. She had to put her arms around his neck. In return, she narrowed her eyes at him in a wonderful glare.

'That you believe it to be a great deal worse than it actually _is_.' Having moved several paces away, he set her gently on her feet. She still glared daggers at him but kept her arms around his neck too; she was rather more afeared of letting go, losing her balance and therefore humiliating herself, than how he might react to this small intimacy.

'See?' he whispered. She didn't _see_ anything. As far as she was concerned, it was a very different matter to stand with support and to walk however far he wanted her to go.

'Now,' Kaddar said, business-like. He unwound her arms from his neck and instead put her hand in the crook of his elbow. 'We shall walk slowly and-' his gaze was caught by the abandoned pile of presents- 'Were these from the girls?'

She did not reply but he detached himself from her anyway and picked up some of the headscarves, stoles and veils. After fingering a number of them, he chose a pink and silver stole and returned to her side.

'And you can wear this one,' he rejoined as he wound it through her unresisting arms. 'It will complement your gown nicely.' It was true; the pink _did_ look good against the grey.

He took her hand in his arm again and smiled broadly at her. 'And now we are ready.'

'What is it you want me to see, Kaddar?' Kalasin's voice was dry as they started towards the door. 'Is it really all that important?'

'I will let you be the judge of that, my dear.'

Once they were out in the corridors of the palace, he did not continue to talk, but he smiled warmly and nodded to his people as they bowed and curtseyed. Kalasin kept her back stiff and her eyes straight ahead of her, trying not to think about their slow pace or pay any attention to the sly looks they were earning.

Kalasin did not pay attention to their route- she was concentrating too hard on _not_ limping- and the Emperor eventually stopped them outside a pair of grandly carved double doors. They were new and Kalasin looked at them with interest, despite herself.

The carvings were mainly of horses and in the four corners she recognised representations of the horse Gods her mother worshipped. There were other carved animals in the doors, but all animals she was familiar with- none of the exotic creatures native to Carthak.

Kaddar was fumbling with a key and a touch of magic but he soon had one of the doors open. It creaked a little, but Kalasin found that she liked the touch of personality.

Smiling, Kaddar held out a hand to her and she accepted it. He led her through the doors, and for a wild moment, Kalasin thought she had entered one of her many daydreams.

Stepping through the door was like stepping across the Great Inland Sea.

It was a large, long room or series of rooms with the ceilings so high it almost seemed like you were outside. The air was much cooler and damper- clearly a product of complex magic- and the whole place was filled with plants.

Kalasin's voice had caught in her throat and as they began to walk gradually down the first path, she realised she knew the way. She knew the plants and she knew where the benches would be, where the hidden statuettes to the lesser Gods sat, where the fountains bubbled up.

It was a complete copy of the Royal Tortallan Gardens.

Kaddar did not press her for a response, which she found was a good thing because Kalasin wasn't sure if she could properly reply right now. He led her to a bench and they sat down, Kalasin staring in disbelieving wonder all around her. She could even hear insects and birds- birdsongs she had known as a child! As she watched, those birds flitted across the tops of the trees.

She did not want to think what this must have taken to build. She just wanted to sit here and drink it all in, in case she woke up and found it was just another fanciful dream.

Kaddar stretched his legs out in front of him. He massaged his knee a little; it gave him pain at times and in the past, Kally used to heal it for him.

'Roald sent us the plans,' he stated quietly. 'If you want anything changed, just let me know.'

Kalasin couldn't reply and they lapsed into silence. She could smell the honeysuckle that she knew without looking up would be growing above their heads.

Time passed, but for once, Kalasin felt it went too fast.

After some time, Kaddar began to speak.

'I'm not fond of this growing old lark,' he said. 'Your body aches, for a start, and I'm starting to take too much of an interest in chess and warm cocoa and slippers in the evening. Even dancing wears me out now; do you know I can't dance more than two sets without needing a break these days? I remember when I could go all evening dancing with you. Do you remember that? How we used to love it, even though my feet would throb horribly afterwards.'

Kalasin listened to him chattering and continued to soak up her surroundings. She found his voice soothing and comforting for once; perhaps it was because of what he had done for her. He had always been thoughtful and kind and generous, but this went far beyond that.

'But I don't like how people look at you when you start to get old,' he continued, seemingly unfazed by her lack of response. 'They start thinking you're incompetent, that you can't do your job properly even though you've been doing it for Gods-know how many years. Worse still, they think you lose your beauty.

'I know, I've seen it in the way they look at me, and the way the ladies look at my wives. They see the wrinkles and the flaws.'

'And what do you see?' asked Kalasin, drawn in by the topic despite the gardens.

Kaddar shrugged. 'I see what I've always seen, only enhanced now by further experience and wisdom. I still see beauty where there was beauty before.'

Smiling, he lent forward and lightly pinched her chin between his thumb and finger. The Empress did not look impressed.

'Flattery is wasted on ears that are deaf to false words, Emperor.'

'And I am too old to flatter. I tell only the truth.'

Kalasin snorted in an unladylike fashion, a relic of her younger nature. She caught his eyes with her own cold stare.

'And you expect me to believe that.'

'You will believe what you want to believe; you always do. I am simply making myself clear.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Are you going to spoil my day with these ridiculous word games?'

'There was a time you'd look forward to such "word games".' Kaddar pretended to look hurt.

'Like you, I grew wiser with age.'

He shook his head, smiling. 'Come, I have something else to show you.' Standing, he offered her his hand again.

'I am quite happy here, thank you very much.' It was the truth. She was not making an excuse for her leg this time; she simply did not want to leave this refuge.

Kaddar picked up her hand, tugging it gently as if she was a pouting child. 'Come,' he repeated softly. 'It will all still be here when you return.'

The Empress recognised that glint in his eyes; it was the one that said "I'm not going to leave you be until you do this". Restraining a sigh, she took his hand and heaved herself to her feet. He tucked that hand into his elbow again, for which she was glad; he could not see it there, nor feel its dryness through the cloth of his sleeve.

Kaddar led her down the paths, going towards the back of the gardens. It was like walking through a dream for Kalasin; everything was so familiar and yet there was a surreal quality to walking these paths again after all these years.

Her husband moved slowly and took her through a door in the wall. Kalasin wanted to resist- she wanted to stay out here in her inside gardens!- but the curiosity of what else he might have waiting for her tugged her on. Like he had said, the gardens would still be there for her to come back to.

There was only one way to go once they had passed through the door: up. A flight of stairs spiralled gradually away from them, banisters ornately carved with further Tortallan images.

'I'm sorry about the stairs,' Kaddar said as he began to help her up them. 'But I was pretty sure you found those easier to deal with than slopes.'

Kalasin nodded, concentrating on managing the steps with the least amount of fuss. At the top, there was a single door, once again carved and inlaid with gold. She waited for Kaddar, but he indicated for her to go ahead. Gritting her teeth, she did so, turning the key in the lock (she pocketed it afterwards) and letting the door swing open.

A Tortallan style bedroom was laid out before her, including a large bed. It was not completely furnished, for example there was no wardrobe or very little other storage facilities, but there were many chairs and low tables to relax at. There were touches of Carthak in the room- red and gold throws on the sofas, gold hangings around the bed, the spicy smell in the air.

Kalasin shot her husband a look, her eyebrows raised. If she had been younger, her body would already be tingling with sexual anticipation.

'Look,' he said, ignoring her expression, and with a hand on her elbow, guided her towards another door. This door was fitted with large planes of coloured glass and when he opened it, Kalasin found it led onto a balcony. The balcony was small and plain, but it overlooked the entire gardens. She could see everything from up here. She could look down on a small section of her childhood Tortall.

Kaddar joined her at the railing, pressing a hand into the small of her back.

'You like?' he whispered.

Kalasin gave him a sarcastic look. 'You are jesting, right?'

He smiled, glad that already she sounded that much more like her old self. They stayed there for some time, staring out over the plants and birds so familiar to Kalasin and so foreign to Kaddar.

Eventually, daringly, Kaddar pressed a kiss to Kalasin's cheek. She said nothing; in fact, to his joy she barely seemed to realise what he had done. He let his arm slid further around her waist.

'Happy birthday, my dear,' he whispered, but entranced, she did not reply.

Some hours later, Kalasin tired of watching the flowers from the balcony and it was then she discovered what a good idea the resting room was. She lay down on the bed and when Kaddar carefully lay down beside her, she did not have it in her old embittered heart to send him away.

--

It would take many long hours over many weeks for Kaddar to bring Kalasin back to a wholesome state. For her to relearn that not all life was bad; that there was still beauty and fun to be had.

It needed long hours of careful talking from Kaddar, slow walks in the Tortallan gardens and in the hot Carthaki fresh air, evenings spent playing chess and drinking warm cocoa, and eventually- when she let him get close enough again- long hours of very gradual, tender love-making.

He was determined to convince her she was still beautiful. He would convince her life was still worth living. He would show her that a dark room and dark high-necked gowns only smothered such a grand queen as she.

And he did.

---


End file.
